Valentine's Day in Vegas
by sarapals with past50
Summary: All GSR, all fluff when everything begins over a pair of socks. This goes back in the past to an uncertain time. Short story--3 chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Here's a short little story--3 chapters, max! Just to celebrate Valentine's Day. We return to the past._

**Valentine's Day in Vegas Chapter 1**

It all started with a pair of socks—the cheap kind made with sparkly fabric sold at the front of Target before any holiday. Sara Sidle had been with Greg Sanders when they made a quick stop for food and she made a wise crack about the socks.

"Who wears those things?" She asked, head directed to the display. "I've never seen 'em on anyone—anyone, even you!"

Of course, because she noticed them, Greg had to pick up a pair and threw them in his basket and when she got outside, he waved the socks in her face, saying "Wear these on Valentine's day and I'll win the bet!"

A few days later Sara had ended up in the hallway of the lab yelling at Catherine which Ecklie overheard which resulted in Sara going home with the threat of terminating her employment. She wasn't fired but it had put an awkward cloud over everyone; the guys had called and visited her while she was off. Grissom had showed up unexpectedly at her apartment the first day—she knew he saved her job—but she had also had a major collapse involving tears and a reveal of her very private life. When she returned to work, the guys welcomed her as if she had been gone for a weekend, Catherine was cautious but civil, and Grissom—she didn't know what to expect, but he was almost the same.

Today, Sara pulled on red socks covered with little white hearts. She would wear them tonight even though Valentine's Day celebrations would really begin tomorrow. Her boots almost covered them so she jerked a little harder to pull them higher. She'd show Greg—after all these were a gift from him—that she did and would "celebrate" the day for lovers. She grimaced at the thought; her love life was pretty much non-existent and, from the way things were going, would remain that way for the future.

She checked her bag for all she might need—change of clothes, phone, gun—running down her mental list as she made a last sweep of her apartment. She had made her bed, picked up her clothes, cleaned the kitchen, and rechecked her bathroom. Not that she expected company, but she had been in too many homes and seen the debris of everyday life that no one would want another to see, so she made sure her place was neat and orderly before she left—just in case. She even checked her refrigerator to throw out old food and, last, she took her trash out as she left.

At work, Nick, Warrick, and Greg were waiting for her, hanging around out front until she walked up.

"Here she is!" Greg was as excited as a sixth grader handing out Valentine cards. He jerked on his pants leg.

Sara slowly pulled one leg of her pants above her boot, lifted and wiggled her foot. She knew what was going on, having worked with these three for years.

Warrick's elbow punched Nick. "Pay up." Money changed hands and she reached for the bills. Nick laughed as he let her take the money.

"I can't believe you wore those!" Nick said with a laugh as they entered the building together.

The beginning of shift went as usual—Grissom sat behind his desk with a stack of files and handed Warrick a solo convenience store robbery, Nick and Greg were going across town to a dead body, and as Catherine was off, Sara would hang around the lab as back-up. Grissom waved several folders at her.

"Back log," he grumbled. "You can work on these." He turned his head back to the paperwork on his desk with an obvious dismissal.

Sara took the case files and sat down at the table in his office. She could finish these in an hour or less so she opened the first one and let her mind wander. Grissom had been unusually nice to her lately—ever since he had taken her home that night after Nick's almost promotion he had watched her, discretely and carefully. After Ecklie had nearly fired her and the emotional breakdown that followed, Grissom had kept her close either from fear that she would blow up in flames or break down in sobs—she wasn't sure.

The first case was an easy one and everything was signed and checked per protocol. She opened the second folder and her breath must have made a sound because Grissom looked up.

"You okay?" He asked.

"Yeah," she said as she faked a cough. She was looking at the case that gotten her sent home; the two dead women encased in tar; she closed her eyes for a second or two.

"Are you okay?" Grissom asked again.

Sara opened her eyes. "Yeah—this—this case—it's the one…"

He waved a hand, "I thought you might like to see how it was closed."

Greg had told her; she had been right about the husband. She nodded and returned to reading the file, putting several pages in order, and checking for signatures. It took longer than normal because she read every word of the thick report.

By the time she got to the third case file, she was ready for something else, but she kept reading. This was why she would never be a supervisor, she thought. Her butt was numb and she had not been in the chair for an hour.

The ringing of his phone brought both heads up before he could answer it and she waited, listening to a one-sided conversation.

"Red Rocks—I know the place." He glanced at his watch. "Maybe an hour, little more." He reached for his jacket and turned to Sara. "We're on—dead body out at Red Rocks, on a trail. You up for a night hike?"

"Sure. Who found it? Why so late?"

Red Rocks was an undeveloped desert conservation area west of Las Vegas popular with hikers and backpackers and those who loved unspoiled nature. This call was unusual because the Bureau of Land Management handled most accidents—falls, occasional suicides, but few incidents required more than finding a note or interviewing witnesses.

"Why us? Do you have batteries? Anything special?" Sara ran through her questions without taking a breath.

Grissom chuckled. "You are ready to leave. Get your kit—camper found the body. Sounds decomposed and BLM has no record of lost campers. Bugs all over the body." He smiled as his hand went up in a motion that signaled "let's go".

They easily found the right trail—blue lights everywhere—with a dozen cars and a helicopter in the parking lot and twice as many people standing around. But no body—it was three miles up the trail—and Sara knew most of these guys were not going to hike into the hills for a dead body. Grissom walked over to talk to several men; Sara went to the back of the vehicle and unloaded most of her kit into a backpack adding bottles of water and snacks.

They started the hike using flashlights but as soon as they were out of sight of flashing lights, Grissom turned his off. The path they walked was easily seen in the moonlight as a white trail between rocks.

"Should take about an hour," Grissom said as he walked ahead of her. "There's a team on sight—campers freaked out when they found the body—called 9-1-1 after climbing to the top of one of the ranges. BLM sent a helicopter but it couldn't land, so a couple of men went down with a basket." He continued to talk as they walked downhill, but once they started up, he stopped; the climb was steep and both found it easier to walk in silence than to walk and try to carry on a conversation.

Sara was having her own issues; the damn cheap socks on her feet kept slipping down. She stopped every few minutes to tug them up, then took a few fast steps to catch up with Grissom. He never noticed.

_A/N: We would be tickled pink to have a bunch of reviews on this first chapter! _


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: We asked, you responded--thanks SO much for all the reviews, comments, messages--you know we love the fluff and GSR--so it continues... (oh, we don't own anything concerning CSI!)_

**Valentine's Day Chapter 2**

When they arrived, the body lay untouched and the campers related their story for another time while a half dozen people stood by and listened again. Sara set up a dozen small containers and Grissom worked as everyone else talked. The recovery guys waited patiently as Grissom poked around, placed a few insects into the small jars, shining their flashlights as he directed. The guy was more mummy than soup and it was not difficult to get him into a body bag. A call got the helicopter above them, the basket was lowered, the body wrapped and strapped into it, and the machine and dead man disappeared over the mountain range.

Finally, Grissom stood, stretched, and reached for the offered water bottle. "Thanks," he said as Sara passed an energy bar to him.

Dawn was arriving as they packed things and began the return trip, uphill first, on switch-back turns of the trail with shadows that made it more difficult to see than their walk with moonlight. Grissom swore a few times before using his flashlight and Sara's socks continued to slide to her heels. She started swearing every time she stopped and jerked them up only to have them slide down again.

At the top of the first ridge, Grissom looked back to see her pulling up the socks. "What are you doing?"

She swore again. "These damn socks won't stay up." She grunted as if that would make them better.

Ignoring her problem, he said, "Get up here to see the view."

She walked the ten feet or so to the ridge. The sun was making a bright gold band on the horizon as it woke up their world and the sky gradually changed from dawn's dark blue to sun-kissed reds and oranges.

"Turn around," Grissom said as the sun changed into a dome of fire. Sara turned to see the true beauty of Red Rocks as the sun came up at their back and danced on the red and white colors of the mountains; dark areas became brighter as light changed and moved along the range.

"It's beautiful," Sara said as they watched the free show for ten minutes before Grissom picked up his case and headed down the trail.

By the time the two reached the narrow valley, Sara's feet hurt from the constant rubbing and prickly fabric of the socks. She was swearing, quietly, every few minutes as the socks slid down her ankle and bunched at her heel. Finally, she sat on a rock and unlaced her boot; the sock was useless. She pulled it off and sat, debating to herself if she would be better off without a sock. Grissom realized she had stopped and turned to look at her just in time to see her strip the sock from her foot. In the light, he saw red.

He returned to where she sat. "What is that?" He pointed to the sock.

She held the sock by its toe. "A sock. A Valentine sock. A very cheap Valentine sock."

He grinned. "You? A Valentine sock?" He took the sock from her and rubbed the fabric between his fingers. "You know better than this…" He crooked a finger. "Let me look at your foot."

"It's okay—it's fine."

His finger crooked again. She stuck her leg out and he knelt to exam her foot. He grimaced; a finger stroked the pad of her foot. His thumb rubbed against her heel. "Damn, girl. This isn't good. Is your other foot this way?"

She nodded.

Visibly, his face changed—anger, irritation, annoyance—Sara was not sure—until his voice exploded with quiet fury. "Sara, this is not good. You've got blisters forming the size of quarters on this foot. How could you think you could walk a mile, much less hike six miles wearing this kind of crap?" He was digging in his case as he talked.

Sara let him rant as she felt the bottom of her foot, thankful to get the sock off. Grissom kept talking about blisters and moleskin and infection and cheap socks while he cut tape and gauze making a covering for her foot. After she pulled the sock back on her foot, he cut duct tape and taped the sock to her calf.

"Throw these things away as soon as you get home," he said as she removed her other boot and sock. He frowned again as he looked at her foot. "You are off tonight. I don't want you hobbling around the lab with these feet."

"But Grissom…"

He looked up. "Don't—don't come in. Take care of your feet—we'll be lucky to get back to the truck before you have full-blown blisters." He did the same padding, wrapping and taping he had done before. "Walk ahead of me. I don't want you tumbling into some crevice and having to pull you out."

Sara had managed to remain quiet, very civil, as he had ranted on and on about her socks, about taking care of her feet, and now putting her off work tonight—totally unfair—she thought, but she thanked him for his work on her feet as she tied her boot. Then he said:

"Why on earth would you be wearing these cheap socks? And with hearts and shiny stuff all over them—it's a double dose of crap on your feet. You know we work on our feet—you are sensible, you should know better."

It was his condescending attitude, or his superior supervisor mind-set, or maybe it was the echo of his voice as it surrounded her with his admonishment of her poor decision, that peeved her the most and meant she could not keep her mouth shut and her thoughts silent.

"Grissom, don't preach to me about me! I've been taking care of myself since I was nine or ten years old. I've had blisters before—just walk through the pain—it's no big deal. I'm sorry I've slowed you down." She stood and slung her backpack across her shoulders. "And it's Valentine's day—that's why I wore the socks—they—they were a gift."

He looked a little confused as she turned and started up the trail. She would not stop again even if her feet bled so badly she left bloody footprints in the dust. She heard him mumble something but she was already steps ahead of him. And the longer she walked, the more she fumed—about his words, about her burning feet, about life in general. Especially life with Gil Grissom who held her hand when she was in the pits of self-pity, tears running down her face and snot out her nose, and ignored her when she fixed her hair, wore nice clothes, and put make-up on her face. She was so tired of trying to figure out—everything! She stomped rather than walked, making little clouds of dust when her foot hit the trail.

Once she passed a bottle of water to him and he took it with "thanks", but neither one said anything else, intent on reaching the parking lot, as the sun came up and burned off the few clouds and brought blue to the sky. Almost everyone had left the parking lot; a couple of deputies and BLM rangers were there and Grissom talked to them. Sara sat in the vehicle and pondered removing her boots, but decided against it. Finally, Grissom was in the driver's seat and the ride back to Vegas took less than half an hour. Sara closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. It was easier than trying to talk.

"Sara," Grissom said, his voice low, "Sara," he touched her arm.

She jerked awake. "I must have dozed, sorry." She blinked several times. They were not in the lab parking lot but in front of her apartment. She frowned.

"Get out, soak your feet—you're off until tomorrow night."

"Grissom! I helped—this is my case too! I can change socks, even change my shoes, and I'll be ready to go. I can't believe you are doing this! If it were Nick or Warrick, you wouldn't think about sending them home—taking them home—my car's in the garage so I have to go in. My feet are fine—who will help you?" She was almost shouting by the time she finished speaking.

"Get out, Sara. Take care of your feet—I'll get your car home." He hesitated a few seconds. "I'll wait on this one. Doc Robbins has plenty to do and this poor guy isn't going anywhere."

Sara saw fatigue in his face; he had also walked six miles this morning. For the first time in many weeks, she actually felt sorry for him. He looked as battered, dusty, and exhausted as she felt. She asked, "Are you sure? I really can be quick—just change my socks."

"Tomorrow night. I'll take everything in and get your car back here." He held out his hand. "Keys?"

She reluctantly handed him the key and got out.

His wrapping with gauze and tape had helped but blisters had formed—two big ones on the bottom of her feet, one on her heel. She dropped the Valentine socks into the trashcan before stepping into the shower. Afterwards, she treated the blisters by the old standard method—pricking, draining, covering with medication and gauze, and putting on good socks. She prepared a simple meal, opened the window, and settled into her normal routine—eat, internet, music, a book, a little bit of television, and sleep. She had stretched out on her sofa with the television remote in hand when a light tap came from her door; not the doorbell, but a knock. Wearing her thick socks, she quietly walked to her door and looked through the peephole. Standing on the other side, she saw Grissom, moving around, restless, as he waited the thirty seconds it had taken for her to reach the door.

He had driven her car from work, she thought, and had someone waiting for him--probably Sophia, she thought. She opened the door, holding out her hand for the key, knowing this would be quick.

Grissom spoke first. "Hey," he said turning to face her before she had completely opened the door.

Sara was speechless at the sight before her. He was wearing different clothes—jeans and a pale blue shirt; his hair was slightly damp, and in his hands, he held fruit. She stared at the fruit. It wasn't just fruit but it was cut fruit, on sticks, in a bowl, cut and arranged in a weird way.

"Happy Valentine's Day—it's a flower arrangement but its fruit." He said as he held up the bowl.

She snorted a laugh. "Fruit flowers—I get it." She giggled again as she opened the door for him to enter.

Grissom had been busy since he left her at her apartment. He knew she was mad—angry at him for lecturing her about—of all things—socks. That was stupid of him, he thought, and the more he thought the more he realized what an idiot he had been. She had not known she would be walking six miles on a rocky trail when she put the socks on her feet. She was celebrating a special day—unknown and unseen—with her socks, and his words made him feel wretched— and guilty, he decided. And it touched his conscious in an unexpected way.

He knew he loved Sara—he had known for years—since they met in San Francisco, but things had been difficult, especially lately. He could not bring himself to move to another shift nor could he rationalize a way to be her supervisor and to make the next step, so 'things' just stayed the way they were. Even when Sara had been the one to approach him—he had refused to make a move. And that's the way their lives had been for too long. Maybe it was time for him to do something about the state of this 'thing' between them—the status quo that had played over and over for the past year or so. And what motivated him was guilt—and those damn red socks covered with little white hearts.

He had hurried through the lab in record time, and had gotten home before remembering her car, but decided it could wait until later. He showered and changed and was almost out the door before he realized he wasn't sure what he should do next. He couldn't—did not want to arrive at her door empty handed and say "Let's drive to In and Out for a burger," not on Valentine's Day. So he stopped at one of the mega-stores for food—he would take something chocolate; all women liked chocolate on Valentine's Day, he decided. Then he saw the fruit thing—it was just corny and unusual enough for both of them to laugh. He made one more stop before getting to her apartment and knocking on her door made him as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

It did make them laugh as they had not done in months; their early morning disagreement or bickering was forgotten. At the saleslady's suggestion, he had gotten chocolate syrup to serve as a dipping sauce. There were strawberries and kiwis, oranges and grapes, melon and pineapple, all cut in shapes to resemble flowers, sort of, as Sara pointed out. When she dropped a strawberry into the chocolate bowl and picked it out with her fingers, chocolate dripped on her shirt and on her chin and ran down her fingers. The drop on her shirt turned into a blob as she tried to wipe it away, and Grissom laughed, reaching for a napkin as she held out chocolate covered fingers.

As he touched her fingers with soft white paper, a warm wisp of air seemed to come from the window. He held her fingers longer than necessary as her fingers moved between his and he saw her soft brown eyes as they should always be—happy, laughing, free of anxiety and worry.

"Sara," he whispered. Her hand froze in his, and in the second it took to say her name, her eyes changed. "Sara—I love you." The words had formed and were spoken before he was consciously aware they had come from his mouth.

And with his words, she removed her hand; her eyes dropped.

Sara was certain of what he had said; he loved her. He had said three words she had only dreamed of him saying, especially recently when he seemed to take on the role of father-confessor-priest. She knew if a heart could stop beating, hers had done so. She had laughed when he appeared with the fruit and they had eaten nearly all of it sitting in her little kitchen, laughing together and talking about nothing important, as they had done when she first came to Vegas. Then he had said those words.

"Don't play with me, Grissom." She managed to say before tears and the lump in her throat stopped her from saying more.

_A/N: Thanks again for all the reviews! You know we love GSR. Now, we also know that Catherine was supervising Nick and Warrick at this time, but everyone needs a night off and swing shift always seemed to be 'around'. And Sophia was around--so we got her name in too. Now, REVIEW!! COMMENT!!! And the last chapter up soon!_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: That's for reading--we reposted this change with a change to one word! Sorry!_

**Valentine's Day Chapter 3**

He reached for her hand. "Sara," he whispered again. She let him take her hand and he brought it to his lips, lightly kissing it. Her eyes were closed but he could see the line of tears along her lashes. "Honey—I won't—we'll work things out." He moved from the stool to where Sara sat, the laughter and happiness gone from her eyes and face. Her eyes remained downcast, her shoulders slumped. "Look at me, Sara."

She lifted her head. Her hand came to cover his, folding around his so both of her hands enveloped his. "I'd know your hands anywhere," she said.

"Why?" He asked, his breath caught at this odd statement.

"They're so beautiful—so reassuring."

He reached to touch her face, pushing a curl away from her cheek before sliding an arm around her back and pulling her toward him. "They love you," he said, "along with the rest of me. I've always loved you, Sara."

It seemed the sun blazed a brighter light, unfiltered as the curtains moved with a breeze. Just before he closed his eyes to kiss her in a soft, tentative way, he saw her brown eyes had changed again. For longer than either realized, they kissed knowing nothing except the contact of their lips, the touch of hands as they held each other afraid of losing what had brought them together. When he eased his arms away from her back and took her face between his hands, he felt an odd sensation before realizing it was pleasure. One of them moaned and, when he saw her smile, he realized the sound came from him.

Around them the warm air moved lightly, stirred the pages of her book, lifted a few papers from her desk, and exited the window pulling the curtains against the screen. Far away, it seemed, a dog barked and muffled traffic sounds drifted in, but neither was aware of any of this…

Sara knew the fruit was a peace offering—his way of making things right between them; an unexpected but welcomed offer. As she had opened her door for him, she realized how she looked—not good—hair pulled back in a hasty ponytail, a pair of shorts and an old tee-shirt with white socks on her feet. They had laughed and talked as they ate the fruit until she dripped chocolate and, quite suddenly, the atmosphere around them changed when he touched her fingers. He had said the words and they could not be recovered; she had them permanently etched in her brain; at first, it had scared her until she realized he was sincere, and a fleeting expression crossed his face, one so short-lived she almost missed it. He was frightened by his words.

Grissom drew Sara so hard against his chest, holding the back of her head with his hand, fingers pressed into her scalp, that he could feel her heart pounding between the swells of her breasts. When she opened the door, wearing a thin tee shirt and white socks, the look on her face was one of frustration bordered with disappointment until she saw the fruit. It had made her laugh and suddenly, he knew what he had missed for months.

"It's okay—we were meant for this," he said. For the first time in a very long time, he knew he was doing the right thing.

She moved slightly, placing her lips against his neck, tasting his skin with her tongue, feeling the heat as she pressed her face against his flesh. Her lips moved from below his ear to his throat finding his racing pulse along the way. She kissed his chest where his shirt was opened, moved back to his lips, and while kissing him there, she begin to unfastened each button on his shirt, sliding her warm hands around him once she got it open.

"Wait," he said, and took a baby step away from her, holding her with his arms locked around her. When she looked at him, her brown eyes were dark lipid pools of happiness tinged with something else, a smile tugged across her lips.

"I've waited long enough, Grissom." Her hands slipped from his back to his butt and she pulled him to her, pressing hips together. A puzzled look came across her face. She giggled. "Ahh—Grissom, is there something—unusual—I think that's the word—going on?"

It was his turn to be puzzled. Then he laughed, letting go of her with one hand and plunging it into his pocket. "I forgot about these." He pulled out a pair of socks, bright red, an expensive hiker's brand. "To replace your cheap ones."

They both laughed, their foreheads touching before they kissed again. Gradually, in a slow motion dance of lovers, they moved. Twice, he asked if she was sure about "this". She answered by kissing him, parting her lips, sweeping her tongue against his teeth in slow sensual motions. His response was to breathe, literally pulling her inside his mouth. He led her, or she propelled him, into her bedroom which was much darker than the rest of her apartment. And in the dim, shadowy space, he undressed her, lifting the shirt over her head, unsnapping her shorts, pulling them into a puddle around her ankles. She stepped out of them, wearing nothing but blue panties and her white socks, and let him stare. His hands went first to her waist, his thumbs traced along each hip bone, then back to her waist. He glanced at her face before letting his eyes flicker to her breasts, then back to her face.

Sara stood still, seeing his face change as his hands moved over her body—soft, strong hands—and his eyes changed to a beautiful cerulean blue—like the sky, she thought, knowing an avalanche was occurring, an entire history sliding away. His eyes returned to hers and for a moment, she saw hesitation.

He said, "I can't believe how beautiful you are." He breathed, struggled for a few seconds before speaking. "I—I—I didn't come prepared for this," he stammered as if a new thought had suddenly entered his brain.

She knew. She knew what he was thinking without him saying more. Her hands went to his face, holding it just as he had held hers earlier, her palms against his cheeks, her fingers threaded in his hair.

"Oh, Grissom," she whispered as she moved against his body. She felt his hands circle her body, pulling her closer. She felt his belt buckle, cool against her skin, right above her navel. "Do you trust me?" She asked.

He nodded.

"Neither of us has reason to worry."

She folded the covers back on her bed. His shirt came off, followed by his tee-shirt. Sara noticed the unblemished skin across his shoulders. She leaned into the smoothness of his chest.

"I've wanted you for years," he said in a voice low and husky with desire before lowering her to the bed. His pants were pushed off and, for some unknown reason, they laughed as he stripped his socks off and, turning to her, lifted each leg and gently rolled the socks from her feet. He frowned slightly as his finger stroked the pad of her foot where the blisters had formed, but when she giggled, he smiled. She lifted her hips to slide off her panties, but his hand stopped her. Slowly, his hands held her hips, his thumbs slipped underneath the fabric along her leg, and little by little, he removed her panties. As she lay naked on her bed, his hand holding her knee, he bent and kissed the tattoo on her foot before stretching beside her.

The first time they made love it was fast, furiously passionate, entirely satisfying, and over too quickly. And they never separated, as she fit against his shoulder in a very natural way, as he found it nearly impossible to keep his hands from touching her. He had moments that seemed amplified by the movement and feel of their bodies—how all his life had come to this time. Later, he would think of these hours as a conversation with eloquent voices sharing secrets that no one else would ever know but he could not remember the words spoken.

The second and third times of making love—and after that, they lost count--they took time to explore each other. Sara teased and kissed and tasted every intimate surface of his body; some places he had never thought about as intimate became so when her lips touched his skin. To her, she found perfection with his responses, with the quiet calmness in bringing them together, and the immense control he exerted until he entered her. Then he became hers, solely, exclusively, as he plunged, and she drew him in, both greedy with desire.

For Grissom, all that filled his mind was the incredible fact that he loved this woman—had loved her for as long as she had loved him. He was overwhelmed by the sight of her, her smell, her taste, her response, and he could not get enough of her.

Hours passed; darkness came outside, and still, they remained in bed. Grissom rolled out of the bed once, pulled on his boxers, went to the kitchen and brought bottles of water to the bedside.

Sara giggled when he returned. "It's just us here—why the boxers?"

"I'm calling in." He searched for his pants and phone.

His statement made no sense to Sara. "But why put on your…"

He held up one finger. "Catherine," he said into the phone, "I've got some things to do tonight, so take charge. Sophia will be in and Warrick can work with her—call if you need me. Oh—Sara's off—she—she hurt her foot and needs to rest it." He ended the conversation before he got anything but an "okay".

Sara doubled over with laughter. He smirked that goofy grin and said, "I can't talk to Catherine without some clothes on," he growled.

He stopped her giggles by kissing her, and with slow, sensual pleasure they were aroused again. It took all his control not to immediately possess her as he slid palms down her spine, feeling the firm curve of her backside as his hands urged her snugly against his rigid, aroused state. He kissed her throat, moved to the swell of her breast and kissed along the valley between them. With one hand, he was touching her in the most intimate way, playing with secret feminine places that made her gasp and moan.

The heat of Sara's skin was so intense that it was all he could do to swallow his groan of raw need. Her face was one of passion and awe, understanding what was happening between them; he knew she had reached that point of no return as he felt waves of contractions against his fingers. He moved quickly, easing himself into her body, filling her as she arched against him. Her body tensed; her fingernails pressed against his back before he lost conscious thought, before waves of passion swept through his body.

Some time later, before midnight, they managed to get out of bed. Both showered, not together, not this time, but he held a towel for her as she stepped from her shower.

"Okay?" He asked.

"Yes." She nodded, smiling with eyes that mesmerized him.

Sara turned on music, stirred eggs together and made a simple omelet while he showered. They sat on the floor and ate because, out of bed, that was where they could be the closest to each other.

"Happy Valentine's Day," she said. She wound her arm through his, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways," he said.

She picked it up. "I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach."

"I love thee to the level of every day's most quiet need, by sun and candle-light."

"I love thee with the breadth, smiles, tears, of all my life!"

He ended, "And, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death."

They remained where they were, on the floor of her living room where he sat between her knees, his head resting on her chest as her long, slim fingers stroked his face.

A long time later, she said, "We can not tell anyone—not yet."

His eyes opened. "I could change shifts—work swing."

"No, I don't want that. I don't want anyone to know about us—this is private. No one else needs to know until we decide—until we want to tell."

"Are you sure?"

She laughed. "Yes, I guess you haven't noticed—but I like my privacy."

She heard him chuckle as he closed his eyes.

He returned his head to the spot between her breasts, which he had discovered were just the right size, thinking this was what life with Sara was going to be: peace and passion, warmth and desire, quiet and goodness, sitting beside her feeling this way and missing her when she wasn't next to him. He smiled when he felt her lips touch the top of his head.

Socks, he thought, who could have guessed.

The End! Enjoy!

_A/N: Thanks for reading and all your comments and reviews! Another "M" rated story up soon!_


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